


Stress Fractures - The DVD Extras

by J_Baillier



Series: Screaming In Cathedrals [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Doctor!John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Hemming and hawing, John Loves Sherlock, John is not okay either, M/M, Medical Conditions, Medical Realism, Pining, Poor Sherlock, Pre-Slash, Serious Illness, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Sick Sherlock, Slow Burn, Very protective John, Vulnerable Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Baillier/pseuds/J_Baillier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some 'making of' -author ramblings and an extra scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Behind the scenes

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> Merry Christmas, dear readers of mine both old and new!
> 
> I have been blown away by the reaction to "Screaming In Cathedrals". This is a love letter to all kudos-clickers, readers, reviewers, commenters - all those fantastic people I got to share this journey with. You are all most cherished. I couldn't resist spreading a bit of seasonal cheer with an extra scene released just before the holidays. This was written right after I posted the last chapters of "Stress Fractures", but editing it gave way to some newer stories I've been working on. 
> 
> Do pop in at http://jbaillier.tumblr.com or leave a line or two in the comments section of AO3 if you feel like it. I'd be ecstatic to hear from you.
> 
> Part 1 contains some assorted 'making of' -type ramblings about the story.
> 
> Part 2 is an epilogue scene that happens some time after the main storyline ends. We revisit some themes from "The Road of Bones" and get a glimpse into John's thoughts on being in a relationship with Sherlock.
> 
> Part 3 is a complete list of songs I used as inspiration for "Stress Fractures".

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  
Behind the scenes of "Stress Fractures"  
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Screaming in Cathedrals" is now completed. Without a doubt writing all of it, editing "The Road of Bones" together with Chloe (mildlyamusingsoprano) and witnessing the online reception to these two stories has been the greatest experience I have ever had as a fanfic writer. The words "thank you" fall short of the awe and adoration I feel for the people in this fandom. This pile of ramblings hopefully resembling an essay, and the extra scene that follows are my way of conveying a chunk of my gratitude. I will definitely continue writing for this fandom, but there's a nagging doubt that this series was the lightning bolt that is unlikely to strike me twice. I mean that in a good way, of course.

Originally I intended for "The Road of Bones" to be a standalone piece. Then readers started asking for a sequel. There were lots and lots of these pleas. What could I do but comply? In all honesty, it wasn't just what the readers were saying: when I published RoB at AO3 I had actually already begun writing a brand new story. That story was proving to be rather challenging and problematic in terms of narrative, but then I realized that it could actually be the sequel. That fixed all the things that weren't really working in almost a magical way - all the pieces fit. 

John completely kidnapped the narrative this time, as is evident in the story being in 1st person. RoB was written in third person, but the point-of-view character was John even then, except in one of the late chapters. It's funny how writing in 1st person sort of took me closer to ACD's original writings than any of my previous stories had done.

The medical side of the aneurysm narrative had clearly run its course, and I knew from chapter one of the sequel that the emphasis would need to be very different. It was time to sort through the complicated emotional landscape that had formed between John and Sherlock. And I couldn't just jump right into romance - there needed to be a new obstacle for the romantic journey John had decided to attempt embarking on. 

It's hilarious and sordid at the same time, the amount of terrible things I put Sherlock through in this series. Things had just began to go well for the two of them, and John is ready to see what could be made of this thing between them, but the universe has other plans. At one point I joked to a fellow fic-writing friend that I was thinking about putting up "life cockblocks John Watson" as a story summary on AO3. 

The story's working title was "Brothers In Arms", but after learning that there were more than a dozen stories already bearing that name in the fandom, I realized that wasn't going to cut it. I think "Stress Fractures" conveys better how Sherlock has to sort through a bunch of complex issues before he and John can truly be together.

There are so many interesting headcanons in this fandom concerning the reason Sherlock and Mycroft have a love/hate relationship. Clearly this isn't just some sort of normal sibling rivalry. The explanation I offer in "Stress Fractures" I have not seen used before. I hope it's a proper curveball! I really enjoyed witnessing readers reactions to chapters three and four - many probably thought that Mycroft's demise was going to be the big bomb and then I go and reveal this twin thing in the very next chapter.

Victor Trevor was not mentioned in my original draft version. During the editing phase I realized that the way in which Sherlock finally sees the proverbial light and climbs into bed with John might seem a bit sudden if there was no interaction between the two of them during those long hours that John stayed behind at the apartment. I racked my brain trying to figure out what on Earth John could possibly text him that would have enough of an impact. I then realized that it had to be something that would reveal John's newfound knowledge of Sherlock's history, something that would prove to Sherlock that whatever had happened in the past, John was not about to rinse and repeat. Cue the sordid tale of Sherlock's first love.

Music became a sort of a side theme early on during drafting the story. I have a bit of training in classical music and the privilege of having an actual professional conductor for a good friend. He helped out with my musical research. I use music quite extensively as writing inspiration, but this was the first time I made use of classical pieces. I listened to The Valkyries during the opera scene and the writing sessions for Mycroft's funeral were all about Mozart's Requiem, which is hands-down my favourite piece of classical music. Many dead masses carry an air of redemption and hope, but Mozart's is quite different. It does have its mellow passages, but mostly it deals with guilt, fear and regret. In other words, perfect for this piece. Milos Forman's Amadeus is one of my favourite films, and the way in which the version of Mozart depicted in the film and Peter Schaffer's play used music to air his dirty laundry, is quite fitting to this storyline. John decides he likes Faure's beautiful Requiem best when Sherlock plays him some options, but Sherlock stubbornly selects Mozart's menacing composition instead as some sort of a statement.

The importance of music is also brought forth in the idea that after the loss of Sherrinford and this entire secret world he'd shared with his twin Sherlock was partly saved by the discovery of a new language, a new outlet for his emotions - the violin. As a cherry on top of the thematic cake, his handsome suitor happens to be an opera celebrity.

Speaking of Carrington Waldegrave, I had a lot of fun planning his scenes. He could perhaps be seen as a sort of a parallel to Benedict Cumberbatch - in the story some culture critics think that Waldegrave's charms are the sole reason that teenage girls are suddenly flocking into the opera... 

I needed Waldegrave in order to force John to move forward in the romantic aspect of the relationship - Waldegrave is there to remind him that if he doesn't do anything, Sherlock might at some point decide to look elsewhere romance-wise if he ever decides to ditch his self-imposed celibacy. Sherlock's actually not quite there yet emotionally - he's probably just curious about this person who's so interested in him. Nevertheless, we get to enjoy some Jealous!John here.

The original ending of "Stress Fractures" was quite brutal and not fluffily happy at all. The last phrase was a comment by Sherlock that they had just been offered a new case involving a famous painting of the Reichenbach Falls. During the editing process I realized this would completely undermine the happiness John and Sherlock have finally achieved, so I decided to to change it. 

The extra scene in chapter 3 of this silly meta thing adds a further dollop of fluff on top and ties "Stress Fractures" even more firmly to the events in "The Road of Bones". 

Outside of the internet I am graced with the friendship of three lovely ladies who also write strange things. One is an aspiring author, one is already a twice-published one and the third focuses on creating fic like me. These three are an unwavering source of support, laughs and insight into all this craziness. M, A and J - you know I adore you. Chapter three is dedicated to M who probably thought that I could never pull that one stunt, never ever ever ever ever.

If there was a "roll credits" song to this whole thing, it would be Saint Saviour's "Horse".


	2. An extra scene

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  
An epilogue to the epilogue in 'Stress Fractures'  
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

Sherlock descends onto a faux-leather covered chair and drapes his coat around his knees like an armour. I take a seat next to him and let my gaze wander to a stroke awareness campaign poster hanging on the wall across the hall.

We're been here before, King's College Hospital's Neurosurgical Outpatient Clinic. The first time neither of us likes to think about. The second time we were both less anxious, but the memories of that first visit were still raw enough that we both had the hairs on the back of our necks raised until we walked out of that appointment smiling after hearing the anticipated news. That the surgery had been successful in all respects.

Today it's time for Sherlock's third and final appointment. The epilogue to the story of his illness. If everything is as it should be and the aneurysm has truly stayed gone, all that will remain are a small metal clip somewhere in the nooks and crannies of his magnificent brain and the faint outlines of the surgical scar on his scalp. 

He has his full mop of hair back now, unruly as ever. I reach out to tuck a truant curl back behind his ear. He answers with a monosyllabic sound, seemingly preoccupied with staring at the door to Dr Berry's office. 

"It's normal, you know, if you're still nervous," I tell him matter-of-factly.

He looks at me, not with indignation but with mild disinterest. "I am not a person prone to hysterics, John."

I smile at the wall. It's all true, what he says, but what he's trying to imply - that he never loses his cool - is a false notion. I don't enjoy witnessing it, but the fact that I'm the only one who's allowed present during those times is a thought that offers me a sense of purpose. It's nice to be needed.

The day that he was discharged after the surgery I remember watching him close his eyes as he leaned back on the sofa, looking more at peace than he'd been in a long time. He was still uneasy on his feet, tired and sore from days of enforced bedrest. But it was him, more so than the pale, fearful, hyperactive phantom I had been living with for the weeks prior to the operation.

I remember how he then stood up, closing his eyes momentarily to combat the mild nausea and disorientation that plagued many post-craniotomy patients. Then he announced that he was due for a shower.

I put down the small bag of his things I had been carrying on the foyer floor and peeled off my coat. "You sure you're up for that? You didn't even try it out at the hospital yet."

Sherlock flicked his hand dismissively at me. "They offered but I refused. The thought of hospital-issue hypoallergenic conditioner and shampoo did not entice."

I frowned. "You do remember you're not supposed to get your head wet?"

Sherlock removed his shoes and pushed them under the coffeetable with his left big toe. He swayed slightly as his balance shifted but he didn't fall. I bit my lip, combating the yearning to grab his arm and assist. 

"It's just clean water," he argued wearily.

"Nevertheless. You're allowed to clean the wound with antiseptic but not with tap water and unless you've secretly had a mirror installed in the bathroom ceiling you're not going to be able to be careful enough only to get your remaining hair done."

A slight shadow moved across his gaze. He hated to be reminded of the fact that he had a new hairstyle not of his own choosing.

"You could've asked a nurse to help, you know," I remarked but it was a pointless argument. Sherlock would never let anyone near his precious curls, this I was certain of. 

Anyone except me, which I learned only moments later, when Sherlock averted his eyes slightly and with a timid tone uncharacteristic of him he enquired if I might be able to assist in said task.

If there was any sort of a possibility of saying no, it didn't occur to me at that time.

As to why he had waited until returning home to do this, I somehow had a hunch the reasons might be more complicated than just vanity. It wasn't that surprising really, consider what a private person he is. On the other hand, this is the man who went to Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet so modesty might not be reason enough either.

I told him to sort everything else first and pleaded him to sit down in the tub while he showered because I was certain he was at risk for passing out when the hot water hit his wrecked body and played around with his blood pressure.

After about fifteen minutes, I heard the bathroom door unlock. Upon entering I found Sherlock sitting on the closed toilet seat lid, a towel wrapped chastely around his torso.

I cleaned his wound, appreciating the perfectly neat row of surgical metal clips holding the edges together. Even though it was clearly the work of a skilled surgeon, the Z-shaped monstrosity did not look like it belonged there. It wasn't showing any signs of infection but due to how little time had passed after the surgery, the edges had not grown together yet. I tried not to think of the fact that it would require very little for disaster to creep in in the form of an infection. I cleaned the wound twice just to be sure. 

I then rummaged around the cabinet for his too damned expensive Lemongrass-Lotus-whatever shampoo, carefully wetted his hair with the showerhead above the sink, and then began gently massaging a small amount of shampoo into his matted, greasy curls, my fingers making circles on his scalp. 

He was very quiet, only replying to the idle chitchat I kept going with some delayed monosyllabisms. When I continued my ministrations towards the back of his skull I felt him leaning into my fingers and a breathy sound he suddenly emitted was nothing short of indecent. 

I forced my fingers not to pause, not to falter an inch. Sensitive follicles? The result of lowered inhibitions due to exhaustion or something else almost involuntary?

The room suddenly seemed smaller and Sherlock seemed suddenly to be sitting much closer than before. I cleared my throat as I continued. "Good?" I asked with a coarse voice.

"Mm." His eyes were closed and the full intimacy of the scene suddenly hit me.

Flatmates don't wash each other's hair.

Friends don't wash each other's hair. 

I had killed a man during our second day of acquaintance. What does that say about me and why the heck had that been less awkward than this?

I could've continued on my regular train of thought, the one that always put Sherlock in a special position outside the usual norms and insisted that it wasn't a sign of anything, really, the strange things we do to and with one another. But this time, I felt as though I'd been left at the station by my usual train of thought. Left to face the unknown.

Be honest here, Watson, I told myself. These thoughts in your head are in your head because at some point you've stopped just thinking about Sherlock in terms of flatmate/friend. They're in your head because whatever he is to you, the word platonic no longer cuts it.

Sherlock was clearly tired, still convalescing and my brain had decided that this was the perfect moment to get hard in his presence? The sense of humour of the universe clearly had no bounds.

If I had been in the headspace I found myself some months later, who knows what would have happened that very evening in the bathroom. Apparently it required a death in the family and Carrington goddamned Waldegrave for me to come into my senses and act on what my body had been telling me for about a year already.

That I wanted him like I had never wanted anything in my life. All of him, forever.

There's never going to be any doubt about that anymore. We know where we stand now. And I have ensured that Sherlock will never forget what he means to me.

No, Sherlock is not prone to hysterics. But you would never believe it if you heard the noises he sometimes makes when he's being completely taken apart in the bedroom. Mrs Hudson has likely begun purchasing earplugs. And Sherlock is still learning the ropes of being in a relationship with someone a bit more of a regular human being than himself. He thought that merely articulating the words 'sex', 'now' and 'John' would be ample enough foreplay for our second time ever. I refused to get off the armchair, snapped my newspaper into submission and told him that he would have to try a little harder. He then added a 'please' and who the fuck am I to resist any longer when he had such an adorably hopeful expression. 

He's a marvel between the sheets and a menace outside of them. The habit of wank withereth quickly when you have the option of being flung into oblivion by hurricane Sherlock.

I'm shaken out of these thoughts by the door to Dr Berry's office opening. The man himself is now holding it open, a chart in hand. He scrutinizes the text on it and then turns his gaze towards Sherlock, who has risen to his feet and is about to take a stride forward. The doctor's brows ascend slightly as realization kicks in. 

"Mr Holmes-Watson?", he says, "Do come in."

 

-The End-


	3. Writing soundtrack

Some Things Change - Saint Saviour  
Various Storms And Saints - Florence + The Machine  
Scene of The Crime - Placebo  
5 AM - Amber Run  
Heavy Stone - Kyla La Grange  
W. A. Mozart's Requiem in D minor  
K. Penderecki's Threnody For The Victims of Hiroshima  
Still - Daughter  
Lifeforms - Daughter  
Touch - Daughter  
Amsterdam - Daughter  
Call To Arms - Laura Welsh  
The Kitchen Floor - Little Green Cars  
I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Death Cab For Cutie  
Just My Soul Responding - Amber Run  
Hold On To Me - Placebo  
Par For The Course - Aimee Mann  
Beloved - Say Lou Lou  
Bosco - Placebo  
Rob The Bank - Placebo  
Blind - Placebo  
St Jude - Florence + The Machine  
Lost - Florence + The Machine  
From Above - Rae Morris  
Dreams - Bastille & Gabrielle Aplin


End file.
